


Interlude in the Wee Hours

by Kahlan_Amnell



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Adoribull Holiday Exchange, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:52:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahlan_Amnell/pseuds/Kahlan_Amnell
Summary: Dorian wakes up and realises that all is not well.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dichotomous_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/gifts).



> beta'd by [starsoverhead](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starsoverhead/pseuds/starsoverhead)

Dorian awoke to shivering and an uncomfortable sweaty sensation. Levering himself up on one arm, his skin peeling away from the Bull’s, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Then, realising that it wasn’t simply the usual warmth of two bodies pressed together under the coverlet, Dorian felt Bull’s forehead with the base of his palm.

“Kaffas,” he swore, pulling his hand away quickly and sitting up.

Bull stirred, then cracked his eye open. “Wazzymada?” he slurred, feeling groggy.

“ _You_ are,” he stated as he poked Bull in the arm before getting out of the bed. A wave of his hand lit candles and had the dwindling fire in the fireplace going again. “You even sound awful.” His point was further made by Bull coughing as he sat up.

Watching his kadan getting dressed, Bull asked, “Where are you going?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You need a healer.” Finished pulling on his boots, Dorian turned around. “You also need to lie back down, you lummox.” He stepped back over to Bull’s side and went to fuss with the blankets. His worried state increased when Bull laid down without comment. Apparently, whatever it was had sapped the strength out of the usually robust qunari.

Dorian turned to leave, but was halted by a large hand seizing his wrist.

“Stay with me? Please?”

For a few heartbeats, Dorian was still, stunned by the request. They’d been together for long enough now that he could count on Bull’s hand the number of times the former Ben Hassrath had asked for things— using the hand that was missing two fingers, no less.

He took hold of Bull’s hand, shifting it from his wrist in order to clasp the larger with both of his own. “You still need one to take a look at you. _However_ , I shall send someone to fetch them, and won’t be but a few paces beyond your doors. Does that meet your approval?”

Bull nodded— the briefest of movements, which he regretted as a wave of dizziness came over him— and accepted more fussing from the mage, which included a damp washcloth that Dorian hit with a touch of frost before putting on his forehead. “Stitches, then. He’ll come.”

“Very well.”

 

The next thing Bull knew, Dorian had returned with Stitches, who was grousing about Skyhold’s infirmary as he pulled out vials and jars, placing them on the nightstand.

Pointing at a vial filled with a bright, yet translucent, liquid, Stitches said, “This one he can drink in the morning. Another before his midday meal, and one more before bed. And this one,” pointing at a jar beside it, “you add to the compress before placing on his forehead. Make sure he doesn’t eat it.”

“Hey!” Bull protested, but said no more when Stitches shot him a withering look.

Turning to his mortar and pestle, Stitches quickly ground up some more herbs and added it to another vial— this time a cerulean blue that turned lavender when the freshly added ingredients were mixed in. “Drink up, Ser,” he said, and tipped the contents past Bull’s lips.

“Gah!” Bull’s face contorted with distaste. “Tastes like nug’s ass. Worse than the last time. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“You chose to spend all that time with the Vashoth caravan we rescued. Even _after_ I had informed you that most of them were ill,” Stitches replied, then added, “ _Ser_.”

Dorian spoke up then. “There’s Vashoth? Here?”

“That’s why I’ve been in the infirmary since we got back. The healers are swamped.” Stitches began packing away his supplies, minus the dosages left for Bull. “The illness afflicting them appears to be limited to qunari.” Turning to Dorian, he firmly added, “Please refrain from any _strenuous_ activity while he is recuperating,” which got him a rude gesture from Bull.

Slapping at Bull’s hand, which earned him the most ridiculous hangdog look from the ailing man, Dorian said, “I will _not_ be the reason the Inquisitor has to be informed should you become sidelined for even longer due to not following instructions.” He then escorted Stitches from their room with heartfelt thanks and a promise of treating the Chargers to a round once their captain was back on his feet.

Once the door was closed, Dorian leaned back against it, and said, “You were so exhausted when you got back, I didn’t even ask how the job went.”

“Eh, pretty routine shit,” Bull replied, “until finding the Vashoth. Got to kill some Red Templars. Those bastards. There were a lot of terrified kids.” He closed his eye and sighed, which turned into another cough.

“Ah,” Dorian said. He returned to Bull’s side and poured a cup of water for the warrior to drink, urging him to lift his head while holding the cup for him. “I assume the time you spent among them was with the children, distracting them and such.”

After a few sips, Bull turned away from the cup and settled back on the pillows. “Yeah. It was worth it. With all the crap they’ve seen… the shit they’ve been through, totally worth helping the imekari.”

Dorian placed the cup down on the nightstand, considering the mental image of the Bull comforting small qunari with their horns just starting to come in and felt a pang in his chest at the thought. Distracted, he didn’t notice the mischievous gleam in the lone green eye. He gave a startled yelp as he was lifted and pulled on top of Bull. “Unhand me this instant!” He scrambled to get up, carefully avoiding knees and elbows digging into the man underneath. Standing once more, he glared. “Just what were you thinking?”

“I’m supposed to rest, and I rest better with my second favourite ‘Vint in bed with me.” Bull reached out for him again but grabbed only air as the mage had deftly stepped back, his glare intensifying but tempered by a glint of mirth.

“Second favourite? That is an insult beyond the pale,” Dorian declared. “I won’t stand for it, amatus.”

Bull grinned. “Only because Krem would tan my hide if he lost the title. You’re more than welcome to inform him of his demotion,” he added with a wink.

Making a noise of disgust that would rival Cassandra’s best, Dorian rolled his eyes. “Again, I remind you that winking doesn’t work when you have only one eye. But, I concede. It wouldn’t do to incur Cremisius’ wrath.”

“You love it when I get you to spank me,” Bull chortled gleefully.

Dorian tweaked the tip of his moustache. “Yes, yes, you insufferable man, though not as much as you enjoy it. _However_ ,” he continued, before the qunari could comment further, “that, and many other activities you delight in, will have to wait until you have recovered.”

Bull’s face twisted into a moue so quickly that Dorian fought the urge to laugh. “There are many things I _delight_ in that are Stitches-approved, you know.”

“Indeed. Dragons, _yours truly_ , that dawnstone axe Cadash gave you, dragons, terrible puns, those eyesores you call pants, _dragons—_ did I say me already?” Dorian pretended to mull over that last part.

“Hey!” Bull protested. “You forgot one of my favourite hobbies.”

“That would be killing dragons with your beloved dawnstone axe that the Inquisitor bestowed upon you,” teased Dorian with a smirk.

Bull grunted. “Said _one_ of my favourite hobbies; killing dragons is an all-time favourite of mine.” He reached over to grasp Dorian’s hand. “Cuddling with you in bed is my favourite of favourites.”

The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of Dorian’s lips even as he let out a small huff of exasperation that had no heat behind it. “Utterly ridiculous. I, the scion of House Pavus, absolutely do _not_ cuddle.” He gave a little disdainful sniff and gestured above their heads. “It gets dreadfully nippy in here, what with the gaping hole in your ceiling. A necessity, sleeping as close to you as I do—”

Smirking, Bull said, “Yeah, a real hardship, that.”

“It certainly is! And not helping in your recovery either.”

“Then you better get real close to me, kadan. We can share our body heat, help keep each other warm.” He held out his hand, and lifted the covers with the other.

Dorian extinguished the candles with a flick of his wrist, then quickly undressed and slipped into bed, settling himself in the spot he had been in earlier. He wriggled his feet between Bull’s calves, rested his head below his shoulder, and slung an arm across the expansive grey belly. He gave a sigh of contentment as Bull pulled the covers up, one hand resting on his and the other lightly rubbing circles on his back.

Bull knew the mage was worried about him. He kept his breathing even and deep as his hand brushed against the smooth bronze skin in lazy circles that roamed up and down Dorian’s back. Sleep tugged at him, but he wanted to be certain his kadan got his rest as well.

In short order, a faint, regular rasping sound accompanied the light tickle of moustache hairs against his skin. Bull stilled his hand, leaving his arm around the smaller man. He yawned, and fell asleep to the imperceptible rhythm of snoring.


End file.
